


In Too Deep

by orphan_account



Series: To Love Another [3]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Conditioning, Dubious Consent, Forced Feminization, M/M, Masochism, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It will never be enough, until he becomes Eddie’s, and Eddie’s alone, belongs to him in every sense of the word</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Too Deep

**Author's Note:**

> I am a sick, perverted bastard and I am going straight to hell. Written for milesupshur.

He’s been bad. Waylon has been very, very bad, and now he will be punished for it. In a moment of lucidity—or rather, just rash stupidity—Waylon had tried to escape. He doesn’t know why the urge had suddenly come upon him. Ever since the wedding, when he had been taken so brutally on the altar (and then taken again, and again, and again in that one night, taken up against a wall, taken on the dirty floor…) Waylon had lost his fighting drive. He’d resigned himself to the fact that his life would forever, and eternally be, used to serve Eddie Gluskin. 

And yet he’d tried to leave anyway. Waylon doesn’t know what’s worse; the fact that punishment is a lot less upsetting than having disappointed Eddie, or that he’s actually kind of happy he’s been caught. In a sick sort of way, it makes Waylon feel important; Eddie would never have gone through such efforts to save any of those other sluts. 

At least Waylon still has the decency to be appalled at the venom in his own thoughts. 

"Darling."

Waylon gives a shuddering breath as he hears the barely restrained anger in his “husband“‘s voice. He’s going to be hurt now. Eddie has been surprisingly merciful thus far, what with all the compromising that’s gone into saving Waylon’s genitals. He’s afraid that now, Eddie will kill him, cut him in half from the groin up. Thank God he is still sane enough to hate the man.

Though, there is this emotion that has started to bubble up within him as of late…an emotion that is definitely not loathing, and must remain unnamed for Waylon’s sake. 

Eddie paces back and forth in front of him, the dimly lit room adding shadows to his face, making his features look even more ghastly in the dark. Despite his calm, the way his shoulder’s are tensed give away how livid he actually is. Waylon wishes he would stop moving. It has him on edge, flinching whenever Eddie makes a movement that is too sharp, too jerky to be considered safe. If he weren’t bound at the wrists and ankles, Waylon is sure he’d try to run away again. 

"Have I been a bad husband? Because, please, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve tried to do everything to satisfy you," he says crisply, finally stopping in his walk. Waylon has to crane his neck to be able to look up at him, and idly thinks that kneeling on the ground cannot be good for his dress. "I’ve clothed you. Fed you. Loved you. And it never seems to be enough now, does it?"

Waylon blinks slowly, eyes flitting quickly to the side as Eddie leans down to scrutinize him. He doesn’t want to see the cold fury behind his gaze, because 1) it’s terrifying, and 2) knowing that he is the one to have caused Eddie this strife makes him feel incredibly guilty. Even though he knows he has no reason to feel this way. 

Apparently, it wasn’t just a rhetorical question Eddie had been asking. His hand comes down when Waylon does not answer.

Waylon hears the heavy smack before he feels the pain, grunts in response to the blow. His head whips to the side from the impact. He tastes iron in his mouth, and disgusted, spits it out with groan. It does nothing to eliminate the coppery flavor. 

"Answer me," Eddie hisses, grabbing him by the collar, pulling him up so they are nose to nose. Eddie could easily snap his neck, Waylon realizes, could simply grab that knife off the desk and shove it into his stomach—but he doesn’t. Waylon can tell that if he stays silent, Eddie will lose his patience, and he will die. 

Swallowing thickly, the words tasting almost as disgusting as the blood on his tongue, he whispers, “I’m just scared is all, honey,”( he wants to throw up), “Marriage is such a huge commitment—you’re wonderful, but I don’t know what to give you back in return…” 

Relief swells in his chest when the grip on his collar loosens. Eddie’s breathing becomes incredibly quiet, his expression smoothing and becoming unreadable. Then he grins, a wide, manic, rictus that has Waylon’s heart plummeting even faster. He is hauled to his feet, and before he even knows it, is slammed against the wall, arms bent at an incredibly odd angle behind him. Eddie’s body cages him in, and it’s awful how quickly Waylon goes from feeling sick, to feeling something akin to being protected. And that’s absurd! All Eddie has done is hurt, and take, and damage, and scar him, so why should he even feel safe in this madman’s trap? What exactly is Eddie protecting him from? Himself?

A cool kiss is pressed to his forehead, followed by another at his cheek, then his ear. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were worried, then? I don’t like to think that you don’t trust me…” A pause. Sudden acid infuses his words. “You do trust me, don’t you? You’ll be a good wife for me from now on, and you won’t leave me again.” It wasn’t a question. 

Waylon nods rapidly, breathing out a broken confirmation that Eddie is right. 

Eddie is always right, he is starting to learn. If he thinks that Eddie is ever wrong, bad things will happen to him. So obviously, his captor must be right, at all times. 

Eddie doesn’t seem appeased just yet. He pulls back and sighs, shaking his head as if to say that Waylon has done a poor job in pleading his case. It’s startling that Waylon is ready to do most anything at this point, sans allowing himself to be neutered, to prove to Eddie that he will behave. 

"On your knees again, darling," he murmurs, undoing the buttons to his trousers. Already, knowing now that if he doesn’t struggle, Eddie will make him feel wonderful, Waylon feels himself start to salivate. He eyes the front of the Groom’s pants hungrily. When Eddie motions for him to open his mouth, he does so almost eagerly. "I think I need to make it clear just who you belong to." Oh, the soft growl is making him impossibly aroused, and when he hears the sound of the zipper being undone…it’s all Waylon can do to not launch himself at Eddie. 

How shameful he feels, that in this short period of time, Eddie has already enslaved him to his cock. If he had managed to be successful in his escape, who would have been able to give him this ecstasy? Maybe being captured was a blessing…

No. No, the second he begins to think that way, he is lost, he is gone, he—

"Well?" Eddie asks expectantly. Waylon reluctantly looks away from those long, nimble fingers working over his shaft, and drags his gaze upwards to meet the other man’s eyes. "You aren’t a virgin anymore. You don’t have to hold back on my account, my little whore." 

And Waylon whimpers at that, squeezing his thighs together to hide how hard he is. He feels disgusting, knowing that being degraded is a turn on, and at the same time, that alone is not enough. It will never be enough, until he becomes Eddie’s, and Eddie’s alone, belongs to him in every sense of the word. 

He’s always been forced to do these things. Eddie has always used him as he has pleased, as an outlet for pleasure. Waylon hasn’t achieved climax at all, because Eddie refuses to touch him there. Waylon doesn’t mind so much anymore; he’s more concerned with pleasing the Groom.

As the seconds pass, Waylon finds he’s starting to care less and less about saving himself, and more about being the perfect bride. 

He opens his mouth, tongue poking out between his lips. Waylon realizes how lewd he must look. His eyes are half-mast, face flushed a dark red. He’s starting to tent in his dress, but even more obscene is the single strand of drool falling from the tip of his tongue, and onto Eddie’s cock. He absolutely revels in the little intake of breath he manages to elicit from him. He loves these reactions. Forgetting that this is supposed to be a punishment, Waylon spreads his lips wide in order to envelope the wide girth of Eddie’s head. 

His husband, to put it simply, is incredibly well-endowed. And Waylon, to put it simply, is very inexperienced in pleasuring a man. So it’s a lot less the actual blowjob that seems to be impressing Eddie, than it is the enthusiasm and pretty display that Waylon is giving him. 

His eyelids are sliding shut, dark lashes casting shadows over his cheeks, because Eddie feels so nice in his mouth. The taste, of course, is horrendous, but there is definitely something addictive in knowing that he’s the one that gets to touch Eddie like this. The only one to see him, kiss him…love him… Eddie has given him this honor, so isn’t it right he give the man the same in return? How dare he try and escape, when all Eddie has done is give. 

He feels excessively dirty and selfish. 

Waylon makes a noise of alarm when he feels fingers knot and tangle in his hair. His eyes flash open and he looks up at Eddie in terror. If his mouth gets fucked again, he will choke, and he cannot guarantee that his dinner will stay down this time. It’s hard enough to breathe as it is, with this corset squeezing him so tightly… Eddie seems to pick up on this fear, because he smiles (and it’s nothing like that crazed sneer he’s seen earlier, this time, Waylon thinks, is almost angelic) and pets his cheek. His pupils are blown wide, breathing uneven. Waylon shivers when he hears the slight rasp to his voice, “You’re beautiful like this, you know. Such a greedy little minx…. I know you won’t ever betray me like that again. You and I will stay together forever, raise a family together…”

Waylon would have smiled if his mouth wasn’t already preoccupied. Oh, it sounds lovely, absolutely lovely, to live out Eddie’s dream. He has to admit, it’s awfully tempting, and at the moment, Waylon can’t recall one reason to say ‘no’.

He feels something scrape against his cock, and instinctively bucks forward. It doesn’t get him the pressure he wants, but he manages to force another inch of cock down his throat as a result. Waylon hears Eddie give a low, throaty chuckle, and quickly pieces together what is happening.

Before he can prepare himself, Eddie is pressing his foot underneath the dress, nudging Waylon’s balls. He’s never been touched there by him before. Never, ever, ever. After going so long without any contact, any satisfaction, Waylon starts grinding his hips against the sole of Eddie’s boot. His eyes are starting to water, whether from pleasure or the pain of being choked, he isn’t sure. Either way, his reaction gains him a scoff from Eddie. 

"You’re disgusting," he coos, "Absolutely wretched. I barely touch this monstrous thing, and you’re already desperate for it? Hideous." God, does that hurt. The insults make Waylon give out a muffled sob of agony. He doesn’t want Eddie thinking he’s ugly. He wants to be called beautiful again. 

Eddie presses his shoe down harder, stepping on his erection as if it were nothing. Why, oh why, does the pain feel so good? 

It continues on like this for a while. Waylon giving poor head (although his faces and noises by far make up for lack of adequacy), with Eddie insulting him and abusing his cock. By the time Eddie pulls out, Waylon is absolutely wrecked. He’s crying openly, tears mixing with saliva and precum at his mouth, and he actually starts begging and pleading for Eddie to let him finish him off. His own dick is throbbing painfully, swollen and ready to burst from the confines of his panties. But all he wants is to taste Eddie’s cum—

Smack. 

Once more, he is slapped in the face; but this time, with Eddie’s dick. The shock (and painful arousal) he feels from it has his head reeling. But not so much as what Eddie says next. 

"Beg me, then. Beg me to ruin your face. Let me claim you," he whispers, "Let me mark you. Make you mine."

Waylon doesn’t even wait for Eddie to finish his thought, is already speaking incoherently, tripping over his words in desperation. “I want it, please, please, Eddie—I’ll be a good wife. I’ll be the best wife. I want you t…” A wheezing gasp, a startled moan as Eddie gives his cock a sharp kick, “…to cum on my face, o-oh god…”

Eddie likes that, apparently, and Waylon keeps begging as he starts to pump his cock in his hand. He loves seeing his face twist as he nears orgasm. Waylon shuts his eyes again, tilts his head back and opens his mouth wide. The strained groan is all he receives as a warning, and soon hot, sticky spunk lands on his face in thick spurts. It catches in his lashes, in his hair, drips onto his dress and some even falls into his mouth. The taste is still foul, but the way Waylon starts swallowing and licking his lips makes it seem like he’s eating ambrosia. 

While he is distracted, Eddie has been assaulting his cock with his foot, and when he reaches climax, he steps down hard. Waylon screams, a loud, horrible, animalistic sound as he cums all over the dress and Eddie’s shoe. 

He is barely awake as Eddie undresses him, cleans him, clothes him in a sheer nightgown. He is most definitely asleep by the time he actually reaches the bed. As Eddie climbs in beside him and pulls the ragged sheet over their bodies, Waylon can hear him whisper, a quiet, almost tender sounding, “I love you.”

Waylon can finally put a name to that mysterious emotion, even though he really doesn’t want to. And yet, that night, he dreams peacefully for the first time since his arrival at Mount Massive.


End file.
